


Artificial Darkness

by lovesrogue36



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Actually Cheap Motel Sex, Adultery, Blindfolds, Community: kink_bingo, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hotel Sex, Mild Spoilers for 215 Preview Pics, Pre-Blackout (sort of), Season 2 Speculation (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles and Rachel have motel sex and he helps her relax after a long day. Mild 215 Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artificial Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was inspired by one of the preview pics from episode 215 which has not yet aired. It's not however really based that much on what we know about the episode; it's just based on the setting. So you can either read this as being set pre-Blackout or as being set during 215.
> 
> Written for Kink Bingo Prompt: Emotion Play

Rachel glances over her shoulder at the motel parking lot, evening shadows stretched across the asphalt. She’s twisting the car keys in her hand as she raps on the door: two short, one long. If he would just leave the door _locked_ and actually get his ass off the couch to _answer_ it, she wouldn’t have to play this stupid game.

She chooses, as she always does, to ignore the way her panties cling to her beneath the curve of her pencil skirt. There’s a reason she puts up with his nonsense, but that doesn’t mean she has to be so obvious about how much she wants him.

“Come in,” that dry, bored voice calls from the other side of the door and Rachel pushes it open, mouth twisted into an irritable frown.

Miles slouches on the sofa, sweatshirt bunched around him, boots up on the coffee table and a beer can in his hand. The tv is on low, some ‘80s movie playing on AMC. Suppressing a groan at the mess, she flips the lock shut pointedly behind her. Tipping his head back, he lifts an upside-down eyebrow at her.

“Hey.”

Rachel drops her keys on the chair by the door with a clatter, unbuttoning her blazer with one hand and shrugging out of it. Laying it over the chair as well, she steps around the couch, a hand planted on her hip and eyebrows drawn together in an almost-glare.

“You know, most people, when they have an affair, want something fresh and exciting, not the same shithole motel room week after week with empty whiskey bottles and pizza boxes piled everywhere.”

He grabs her left hand without looking up from the tv, squeezing her ring finger almost too tight. “You know, most people, when they have an affair, take off their wedding ring,” he shoots back, twisting the silver band between his fingers and darting a glance up at her.

It’s an old fight. Affair sex isn’t supposed to come with ‘old fights,’ is it? That kind of defeats the purpose of _affair sex._ Rachel wrenches her hand back, pressing her fingertips to her forehead before shoving her hands into her hair. She sighs heavily through her nose, eyes squeezing shut. “Can we just have sex please?” she snaps.

“Well not when you say it like that,” Miles retorts with a whine, sounding for all the world like a neglected housewife.

It’s enough to penetrate her irritable, workaday mood; Rachel tries to fight it but a little disbelieving laugh escapes her anyway. She shakes her head, dropping one hand to run through his hair.

“I’m sorry. Long day,” she mumbles, getting lost in his shower-damp waves.

“Come here.” Miles flips the tv off and takes a sip of his beer before setting it aside on the coffee table and tugging on her hand.

The sound of her zipper sliding open fills the room and then her skirt’s crumpling at her feet as she steps out of her shoes. Lifting herself to sit across his lap in just her panties and blouse, she heaves a hard-day kind of sigh. Miles pushes himself up, one hand sliding over her bare thigh and the other diving in at her jaw, his mouth on hers in something that isn’t even quite a kiss. It’s just breathing and maybe that isn’t very romantic but it’s what she needs.

He figured out early on that she needed to unwind, needed to let out the last day or week or month worth of stress before he could get under her skin. Her arm wraps around his neck and she sighs softly against him, deepening the kiss with his bottom lip between hers. Fingers sliding over the back of his hand at her jaw, she leans into him, hips grinding down into his. He must feel the moment she relaxes because his arm comes up around her waist, tongue dipping in her mouth and she can _just_ feel him stirring beneath her, pants growing tight.

Rachel’s panting when they finally pull apart an inch but immediately turns to seal her lips to his jaw, hands roving up under his t-shirt and along the waistband of his jeans. He follows her lead, tugging up the hem of her blouse, his big hands easily spanning the small of her back. By the time she reaches his ear, he’s groaning under her, her bra unhooked beneath her shirt and his callouses scraping over her ribs.

“Can we _please_ just have sex?” she asks again, this time in a heavy whisper, tongue darting out against the sensitive skin just in front of his ear before she pulls back, one hand hooked in the top of his jeans.

Miles pulls a grimace for her teasing and she grins, lifting her arms over her head so he can lift the silky striped shirt off. She shrugs her bra off too, sparing a moment’s concern for the barely-curtained window, before his mouth is on her breasts and she doesn’t care who might see.

She lets him drag a few wrecked moans from her with his teeth and tongue and hands before she tugs on his hair, shaking her head. “No, no, baby.” Rachel bites her lip, feeling uncomfortably wet and strung tight. “Want you inside me,” she mumbles. _Need you inside me_. He always knows though. He might not be able to get his life together or out of the motel more than twice a week but he always knows what she needs before she asks.

Miles is already lifting her gently off him to shrug out of his sweatshirt and t-shirt and she pads across the room in her panties to retrieve condoms from the dresser, next to the Gideon Bible, (that she knows where they are might be a sign they do this too often but, then, doing this _ever_ is too often.) She would have straddled him back on the couch and been plenty satisfied but he shakes his head, tugging the covers off the bed and pointing.

Rachel’s lips twitch into a smile at his typical nonverbal communication and, sliding her panties down her thighs, lifts herself onto the bed. The rest of the room might leave a lot to be desired but he clearly let the maid in this morning, at least to change the sheets, because they’re crisp and clean and white.

He sits on the bed next to her, unlacing his boots and dropping them to the floor with a thud before kicking his jeans off. Rachel slides her hand up over his shoulder, neat manicured nails skimming the familiar scar on his collarbone without even looking. She kneads her thumb into the knot at the base of his neck and he rolls his shoulders with a quiet groan.

Flopping beside her, Miles snakes an arm beneath her waist and rolls her under him, graceful hands landing on his shoulders. His kiss is deeper than before even as he reaches his free hand between them so his fingers come away slick and wet. Rachel moans her complaint, lifting her hips against his, her hands clenched into fists.

“Please,” she hisses in his ear, back arching. “ _Miles_.” She draws his name out, knees falling open on either side of him. His half-hard cock nudges her thigh and Rachel reaches for it, veins and skin and muscle rousing beneath her touch.

He tips her chin up with one hand so she’s thoroughly distracted, though she can feel him rummaging in the nightstand. Rachel knows what’s coming but she still shivers when the black satin brushes her cheek, a cheap sleep mask clutched in his fist beside her head.

“Yeah?” he asks against her mouth, breathless.

It’s cute that he still thinks he has to ask given that she has never _ever_ said no. “Yeah,” Rachel pants in agreement, hand on the back of his neck as she chases after his lips.

She keeps her eyes wide open as he fits the elastic over the back of her head. Only as he slides the mask down into place does she let her eyes drop shut and she bites her lip over a quiet moan, plunged into darkness. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders in a rush and she slides her hands up his chest.

“ _Now_ can you be inside me?” She sounds so needy, she almost rolls her eyes at herself, but Miles only huffs a laugh and grabs a condom out of the box.

While he’s fumbling around with the wrapper, she traces the familiar lines of his arms and shoulders, letting her mind wander. This is something she would never ask of Ben, not because he would refuse her but because he always says they don’t need _all those trappings_ to please each other. Honestly, a blindfold isn’t all that kinky (she and Miles have tried far more extravagant things than this and she blushes just thinking about it.) But what Ben doesn’t understand is that she can’t shut her brain off, even in the middle of sex. She _wants_ to be consumed and overwhelmed by her husband, truly she does, but it was _Miles_ who figured out she needs a little help getting there.

The bed creaks and then Miles is shifting over her, wrapping her leg up around his waist and spreading her open with two fingers as he pushes inside her. Rachel draws a choked-off gasp, nails digging into his neck as he stretches her, latex crinkling and clinging between them. Without the blindfold, that wouldn’t seem all that sexy, if she’d notice it at all, but like this, everything is more intense.

It’s not that she can’t get off with her eyes open or something; it’s just that on days like this, when she’s stressed or overworked or pissed off at the traffic or the weather or her boss, she can’t get out of her own head. And Miles always knows that. He always goes for the blindfold when she needs it most, without her even suggesting it.

Secretly, she thinks he just likes the raunchy view of her naked but for a strip of black across her face.

Even more secretly, she thinks he likes helping her relax almost more than he likes making her come.

The bed dips beside her head (he must have his hands braced on either side of her, she thinks) and he shushes her, stilling inside her as deep as he can reach. It takes a few heartbeats but her breathing slows and the stress drains out of her, lips parting. When he moves again, it barely counts as a thrust, just the slightest shifting of his hips, and she doesn’t really have to wonder how he has that kind of militant patience.

Rachel clenches on him, her moan sounding strangled. He’s barely touching her, his hands spread wide on the bed so only their legs are tangled together, and she strains up toward him, breasts prickling with excitement.

“Mi- _Miles_ , ohgodohh-” She trips over a string of nonsense words as he lifts her hips, the unexpected change in angle wrenching into her self-control. Her hands rove across his shoulders, clinging to him, and he drops onto an elbow, placing efficient, teasing kisses across her jaw.

Her breasts are finally crushed up against his chest and, _god_ , her nipples feel so hard and untended against the coarse hair there. She doesn’t have to _see_ him to know what his body looks like, all long limbs and sinewy muscles, wrapped around her. His hips jerk against hers and for the first time since he placed the blindfold on her, she hears him stutter over her name, barely-damp hair tickling her face.

Rachel’s lips stretch into a grin but she’s too far gone to keep up the teasing expression for very long. It fades back into what is probably a mask of concentration, teeth in her lip, and she tightens her legs around him. Tightens on his cock. “Harder,” she half-begs, voice twisted into a whine. Beneath the blindfold, she thinks she can feel wet, desperate tears clinging to her eyelashes.

Miles ignores the request, slowing his thrusts even more, though she knows it must be killing him. She can’t help the cry that escapes her when his knuckles graze her clit without warning, her hands shaking on his shoulders. Rachel whimpers her protest when he just as abruptly reaches up to take her hand, drawing her index finger into his mouth. She trembles at the overstimulation, her own mouth watering, but then he’s guiding her down to where they’re joined and threading her finger in alongside his cock.

He groans into her shoulder, no doubt at the feathery brush of her slim finger on the side of his cock, and she curls her finger up, digging in right where it’s good, her thumb flicking haphazardly at her clit. Anyone else would probably be offended that her moans get louder and less controlled when she has her own fingers inside herself but Miles loves to watch her get herself off. Loves to suck her fingers clean after.

She squeezes her eyes shut tighter behind the blindfold, features probably twisted into some uninhibited face she would never make otherwise, and her stammering _almostalm-almostthere-yes-_ seems to affect him because he’s coming inside her with something that sounds like a creative string of obscenities mumbled into the curve of her breast.

Rachel follows him over, the cheap headboard knocking against the wall and the lamp rattling beside them as she comes crying his name. She’s never this loud or this desperate when she can see, when she can be distracted by the messy motel room or the bags under his eyes. She always feels like their lives are too messed up not to acknowledge it all, all the time, but that’s _exhausting_ and unhealthy and Miles knows she can’t handle it.

Somebody bangs on the wall next door and shouts for them to _shut the fuck up_ and she purses her lips, barely off her high and already back to wishing things were different. Miles only stretches up to bang his own fist on the wall and shout back something equally rude that makes her giggle, pushing the mask up onto her forehead.

She blinks in the yellow light as he glances down at her with a post-orgasmic half-grin and swipes tears from beneath her eyes with his thumb. The first few times they did this, she cried without meaning to or understanding why. He thought he’d hurt her or she’d changed her mind or any one of a thousand other things and he needled her about it for weeks.

He doesn’t worry about it anymore; she always cries when he blindfolds her.

It’s not because the sex is that touching because, really, it’s more tawdry fucking than tender lovemaking. Rather, it’s because he cares enough to do this for her and because it is exactly the release it’s intended to be.

Rachel feels a flush spread over her cheeks and down over the rest of her body, self-consciousness returning, but slides her hand up to cup his jaw. “Thank you,” she murmurs, still slightly breathless, her thumb stroking his cheek.

He turns his head to kiss her palm. “Anytime, babe.” And she knows he means that. He really does. Even when she’s bitching without provocation _,_ he would genuinely do anything for her. After everything she’s done, after everything they’ve done to each other and the people around them, he still worshipsher. _She_ doesn’t deserve _him_ and she knows that for a fact, no matter what the outside world might think of their mismatched affair.

Rachel stifles a yawn, already slipping back into the overthinking habits that stress her out to begin with, and he nearly smiles, gently prying the mask out of her hair and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

Holding her hips steady, he slides out of her, mindful of her wincing and tosses the condom in the trash. He reaches for the blankets, discarded at the end of the bed, and covers their naked bodies, his arms wrapping around her. There’s traffic noise outside and people fighting in the next room over but Rachel just tangles her fingers with his, already half asleep.

 

 


End file.
